


the new 007

by knouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: FUCK, i hate this, it's not really lourry, just harry observing how fit louis is, mainly zarry friendship, spy AU, this is so dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knouis/pseuds/knouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry meets Agent Louis Tomlinson on his knees with a gun to his head in the middle of a luxurious bedroom in the heart of motherfucking Rome. </p>
<p>(a spy drabble. it's stupid.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the new 007

**Author's Note:**

> this is seriously so dumb. i wrote it for a creative writing class and never did anything else with it. i'm sorry.

Harry meets Agent Louis Tomlinson on his knees with a gun to his head in the middle of a luxurious bedroom in the heart of motherfucking Rome. He’s got this foul tasting cloth tied around his mouth and his hands are bound behind his back with the coarsest feeling rope he’s ever felt in his _entire life._ He’s having an aneurysm trying to decide whether he’s going to start crying or disown Zayn as his best friend because the asshole snuck them into this swanky party and left him to get kidnapped. _Bastard_.

Footsteps sound down the hall and the large bellied man holding the gun flicks off the safety and presses the cold, daunting barrel to his temple. Harry flinchs violently and hears the man let out this horrific spine-chilling chuckle that Harry is pretty sure he’s only heard in horror movies, and yeah, he’s going to cry soon. He’s even second-guessing disowning Zayn because he’d literally give anything to see his best friend’s stupid quiff right now. This idiotic trip to Rome was never supposed to turn into some odd remake of _Taken._

He’s picturing Liam Neelson with Zayn’s face bursting into the window behind him and saving him when the white door he’s facing surges open and a laughing couple stumbles in, and the gun is pressed so hard to Harry’s skin that he’s surely going to feel it the rest of his life.

The two men don’t seem to notice Harry and his predicament, too busy in their fancy suits and giggling into each other’s necks drunkenly. Harry makes out stark blonde hair and feathery brown hair before they even look up.

Of course, Harry thinks, I’m on the brink of dying and my form of Liam Neelson is two drunken idiots. Lovely.

“Woah,” the brunette says, looking up.

“I think you two should leave.” The gun presses further.

Harry flinches like he has been for the last hour and lets his eyes meet the brunettes. Blue eyes veer into his and Harry feels a slice of hope because the man’s eyes aren’t hazy with alcohol but wide with adrenaline. Harry’s stomach rolls, whether it is from fright or giddiness, he’s not too sure but he hopes it’s from fright because he should not be getting butterflies while he’s in the _middle of being kidnapped._

Then the man winks, _yes winks and that’s butterflies_ , and suddenly the two aren’t happy drunks anymore. Their backs are straight and holding guns with barrels pointed straight at the man next to Harry. He feels faint and sick because he’s basically in an action movie and it’s not as wicked as he had thought it would be when he was twelve.

“No, I don’t think we should, mate,” the blonde says. “I think you should let the kid go.”

Harry bristles at the word kid because seriously, it didn’t matter that this blonde had a thick Irish accent, he still looked like he’s younger than Harry. Harry doesn’t actually know how having an Irish accent pertains to ages but he’s got a gun to his head, he’s not in the best state of mind.

“Can’t do that.”

“And why not?” the blonde asks.

“He’s a bargaining chip, Blondie.”

“Come on, Crowley. You know it’s no use; we’ve got the place surrounded. There’s no bargaining to take place,” the brunette says.

Harry briefly wonders just how people can have such calm conversations when there are guns present. Seriously, this was becoming a spy movie; even his captor had a villain-ish name.

“I see,” Crowley say, his voice still unwaveringly calm.

The next chain of events still haunts Harry’s dreams years later. The gun disappears from his temple only for gunshots to ring out through the room, piercing Harry’s eardrum like a cannonball. He closes his eyes tightly, flinching every time a bullet sounds, and shuffles away from the sounds as best he can using his bound hands to drag himself to the other side of the bedroom. A window shatters, and he doesn’t open his eyes to find out why.

“Niall, go after Crowley! I’ve got the boy.”

The sound of running footsteps leaves the room, and suddenly the room was silent and it seemed to burst Harry’s ears more than the gunshots. He senses someone walking toward him and he knows that the last person to talk was the brunette, and he could only hope it was him, but Harry’s nerves were so damn fried that he shovels himself further away. His back smacks into a wall and a surge of panic races through his heart, choking him and forcing out a startled whine.

“Hey, it’s okay! Just calm down and I can get you untied, love.”

Harry attempts to heave in air around the gag and can’t. He recognizes the voice, places it with feathery hair and blue eyes and tried to stop shuddering but all he can feel was the gun against his temple and the overwhelming thought that he really could have just died.

Harry hears him sigh before he began speaking again in a different tone.

“Tomlinson reporting in. Horan’s gone after Crowley. Malik’s cargo is safe.”

Harry’s eyes flew open and it’s only then that he realizes he’s been crying because his vision is blurred. He blinks rapidly and looks at the brunette’s soft face and prays against all odds that this strange man is speaking about the same Malik as Harry’s thinking. Would love nothing more than for this man- Tomlinson, Harry assumes- to be referring to his best friend because at this point Harry doesn’t even care about how Tomlinson would know Zayn, Harry just wants someone familiar.

Tomlinson smiles at him and Harry’s heart settles against his chest.

“Hey, my names Louis,” he says. “I’m going to get this gag off, okay?”

Harry nods slowly but still flinches slightly when Louis’ cold fingers brush the back of his neck. He heaves in such a large amount of fresh, rank-free air that he chokes on it and his eyes water all over again in relief. Louis’ calloused fingers grip his shoulder and Harry recoils remembering Crowley’s own bruising clutch and Louis quickly retracts his hand.

“It’s all right,” Louis soothes. “I’m a friend of Zayn’s, I’m only getting you free.”

“Zayn?” Harry says, voice rough against his dry throat.

Louis nods eagerly flashing him a stunning smile. “The one and only. Gonna be okay while I undo your hands?”

Harry startles out of his relief over Zayn and nods feeling stupid all of the sudden for freaking out in front of someone who was only trying to help him. Louis edges around him and a yank at the rope gives Harry’s wrists freedom once again. Immediately Harry rubs at them noting the red rashes and shudders.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying thank you for exactly. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for being the good guy.

“It’s my job,” Louis comments with a shrug.

Harry looks away from Louis’ intense blue eyes at the sound of a relieved sigh that resembles his name. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see Zayn and his dumb hair and pierced ears and wide hazel eyes since he met the guy waddling around in his diapers. Zayn is still dressed in the same black suit as when they snuck into this stupid place but his face is turned downward in worry and his hair isn’t in the quiff it had been, and he’s never looked better to Harry.

“Zayn,” Harry says just because he can.

Zayn flies across the room and soon Harry is being gripped so close to him that he can smell left over cologne and smoke. Harry doesn’t flinch because this is _Zayn_ , instead he presses his face into Zayn’s neck and wraps his arms around him in return. Harry can feel Zayn shake and chooses to ignore the unfamiliar feel of Zayn crying because he does it so little that Harry doesn’t like to draw attention to it.

Zayn breaks away and grips the sides of Harry’s neck fiercely, his eyes glassy. Zayn shakes him a little.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again, got it Styles?” Zayn demands.

“You disappeared first, asshole,” Harry defends faintly. He flashes his best friend a ghost of a smile just so he doesn’t have the meltdown of the century. Harry thinks that should be reserved for him considering he just spent an hour with a gun to his head.

Zayn winces. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Sticking by my side from now on, though. Don’t let those curls leave my sight, yeah?”

“Not going to be a problem.”

“Zayn, time to go.”

Harry jolts at the sound of Louis’ voice forgetting he was there. Harry looks up to see Louis in the doorway with not only the blonde from before but also another man with a buzzed head and broad shoulders was standing around as well. That’s when Harry is reminded that these people with suits and guns know Zayn.

“Zayn, what’s going on?” Harry looks back at his best friend.

Zayn bites his bottom lip and tightens his hands comfortingly.

“I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just bare with me for a little and don’t leave my side,” Zayn says.

Harry bites back the questions bubbling in his mind and nods.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Zayn says.

Zayn lets go of Harry’s neck and grips his elbows, helping Harry to his feet. Harry swears as his knees nearly gave out, needles picking at his skin as the muscles woke up. Zayn steadies him with an arm around his waist

“Hey Zayn?” Harry mumbles as they walked toward the other three.

Zayn hums.

“We’re never fucking going to Rome again.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> kill me.


End file.
